


Locomotion

by phalangine



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, meet normal turns into what should be a meet ugly but it's constantine so really it's just a meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: John's looking for a ride home, Zed's busy, and Chas is just doing his job.





	Locomotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessicamiriamdrew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicamiriamdrew/gifts).



> i found [this post](http://theocseason4.tumblr.com/post/175529197020) and sent it to jessicamiriamdrew at around one am because i've never found a rhythm i couldn't miss, circadian or otherwise

The problem with not driving, John reflects as he parks himself on a bench as far from the brownstone as he can make his feet carry him, is that he can’t drive. So can’t just leave when he’s done.

As bad as fighting demons is, getting to them is fraught with its own difficulties, frequently dirty seats, and the constant sense that everyone is just one small step from vicious anarchy.

John loves it (when he’s not the one fighting with a stranger over an arm rest). Public transportation is human nature unleashed and amplified. There’s danger and mystery and, best of all, a break from poltergeists.

You’d think spirits would be attracted to buses and trams, being full of humans as they are, but aside from the occasional unfortunate one, John generally doesn’t have to deal with the dead on his commute.

It’s nice, in a depressing sort of way.

Unfortunately, most forms of public transport tend not to run at three in the morning, which means John is forced to get out the cell phone Zed forced on him, locate the app she added, and send out a request for a cab.

He gets a response faster than he’d thought.

The app tells him his cabbie is a man named Chas, who has an excellent rating and ought to arrive in about ten minutes.

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, John reaches into another pocket and pulls out his pack of Silk Cut. It was full when he got here, but It’s almost empty now. He doesn’t have any more back home; they’re too important leave unattended. He’ll have to see if this Chas bloke will mind a bit of a detour to the shop- and if the meter will run while John does his shopping.

Chas seemed like a decent sort in the bland picture the app handily provided- obviously not a self-selected photo, because no human would voluntarily share what must have been a DMV reject- but John knows perfectly well that a kindly face doesn’t equal a kind man.

Freeing his lighter, John lights the end of his cigarette and takes a long drag, closing his eyes and enjoying that first hit of nicotine.

He deserves it after the mess he cleaned up with that demon.

John has almost finished the cigarette when he hears a car approach. Opening one eye, he quickly spots the yellow cab that’s pulled over a few meters away.

A man gets out- how he got in must have been a miracle of biology, because there’s a lot of bloke coming out of not a lot of space- and as he steps closer, the streetlight illuminates his face.

“You must be Chas,” John says around his cigarette.

Chas, who seems not to share the pervasive dislike Americans have for John’s favorite addiction, nods. “Got any bags you need help with?” he asks.

He’s got a lovely voice, John thinks. Deep enough that John can feel it rumbling through him but not so deep it’s hard to understand.

A perfect bedroom voice, really, and if John weren’t so tired and so uninterested getting turned down, he’d consider making a pass. Not yet, though, and not here- maybe at the shop. If he were to do it. Which he won’t.

He can think about it, though. He can shake his head and grind out his cigarette and follow Chas to the cab, and he can think about those solid arms and soft blue eyes as he goes.

Slipping into the back, John watches Chas fold himself into the driver’s seat. He does it remarkably gracefully, but then, he’s probably been a big bloke for a while. Getting in and out of places not designed to accommodate him must be second nature by now.

There’s a terrible line John could weave that into, but he lets the thought come and go unspoken.

“So,” Chas asks once he’s buckled in, “where to?”

“Depends,” John drawls. “I’ve got to grab a new pack real quick, but I’m not sure it’s worth keeping the meter running.”

It’s a gamble, this, but for once, it works in his favor.

Chas lets out a huff of a laugh. “Tell you what. You get in and out in less than five minutes, and I’ll pay that part of your fare.”

Feeling himself smile, John says, “You’ve got a deal, mate.”

They lapse into silence after that, with Chas starting the car and John rolling down the window before Chas can try to put on the air conditioning. It’s the kind of night that ought to be felt, the darkness thick and full of promises.

Or maybe threats. Hard to tell in a place like this.

It’s been days since John was able to relax. The spirit possessing that poor woman had been a nasty little bastard, and in the end, it was only luck he’d found the right ritual to exorcise it.

Maria is a happy, demon-free young woman once again, though, and that’s what counts.

The trouble is, John’s in that strange place where he’s exhausted and perfectly fine at once, and he knows from experience that the only way to shake the feeling is to get through it. Ideally, that would involve a hard shag and a bit of liquor, but he’s still getting a feel for New York, still making a network. He doesn’t have anyone he can rely on for something quick and friendly but otherwise meaningless yet- Zed isn’t interested, and even if Jim weren’t pining after her, it’s hard to say where his preferences lie. Could be a bit of a lark, finding out, but now’s not the time for that.

John is looking out the open window without seeing, lost in contemplation of Zed defending her copper’s honor, when the cab comes to an abrupt halt and Chas speaks for the first time since they left.

“That motherfucker,” he mutters. Twisting in his seat, he gives John an apologetic look. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to wait a minute.”

“What are you-” John cuts himself off as Chas unbuckles his seat belt, opens his door, and springs out of the car.

“Russo!” he shouts. “You should’ve stayed on Staten Island!”

Russo, who John can only identify as the man who has emerged from a cab on the other side of the street, shouts something in return, and that’s all the warning John gets before the yelling becomes fighting.

Chas lands the first hit, and it’s with a sense of unearned pride that John gets out his phone and taps out,  _ Got a ride with a bloke from that app you insisted I have. He stopped the cab so he could fight someone. _

Zed won’t like the message, but she’s the one who installed the app and put herself in John’s contacts, so it’s her own fault, really.

It’s hard to see exactly what’s going on in the low light, but Chas and Russo are close enough to a street lamp that John can see the general shape of the fight.

It isn’t a very long one- it’s just two regular blokes hauling off on each other, after all, not even a bit of alcohol to dull their senses and heat things up- but John is almost positive that fistfights are supposed to be less one-sided than what he’s witnessing.

He glances over at the other car and sees a woman poking her head out the rear driver’s side window. She catches John looking and shakes her head, clearly disappointed. In the cabbies as a whole or in her driver’s poor performance in particular, it’s hard to tell.

John nods at her regardless, accepting that her driver isn’t a reflection of her as a person.

When he looks back at the fighters, they aren’t fighters anymore. The fight is over. Russo is lying on the ground but moving around and making a good deal of noise.

Chas jogs back to John, grimly victorious.

John, despite the weak voice in the back of his head trying to tell him this is a terrible idea, decides he wants to know more.

“So, Chas,” John drawls as Chas climbs in and fastens his seat belt as if nothing happened. “Tell me. Do you always stop your cab so you can have a go at cracking some poor sod’s skull?”

Chas shakes his head, but he meets John’s eyes in the mirror rather than starting the car. “That ‘poor sod’ isn’t allowed to drive a golf cart at Dyker Beach. God knows how he’s still got his license.”

“I sense some bad blood.”

“Considering he isn’t allowed to drive a golf cart at Dyker Beach because he isn’t allowed there at all after he gave a fare the ride of her life through the golf course and got us all put on probation, yeah, there’s some bad blood.”

It’s a passionate, logical explanation, but considering Chas just stopped in the middle of work to throw down with the man, John suspects there’s more to it than wounded professional pride.

“...And he hit on my ex-wife before she was my ex.”

There it is.

“She didn’t leave you for him, did she?” John asks.

Chas lets out a sharp laugh. “She didn’t, but thanks for the new nightmare.”

“Well, this way you’ll remember me, won’t you?”

He didn’t mean to flirt with Chas- he really is just looking for some more Silk Cut and a ride home- but there’s something inviting about him. Something more than the promise of a good shag John can’t help but read in his body.

John’s a connoisseur of cabs. He’s been hopping from one to another for years. He’s known a fair share of cabbies, through repeated run-ins and a few in need of help of the exorcism nature. He’s never been any more drawn to them than he has any other group of people.

But something about Chas feels significant.

That isn’t something John can say aloud, of course, so he keeps it to himself as Chas drives him to the shop to buy his ciggies, then on the way to his flat.

Their goodbyes are quick, just a  _ thanks _ and a  _ goodnight _ after he’s paid- minus the three minutes, twenty-two seconds to get his groceries- and for a moment, as he watches Chas’ cab drive off, John wonders if that’s all there is to it. Maybe he imagined that feeling of significance. Maybe he’s just lonely and looking for a connection where there isn’t one.

Maybe he just needs that shag.

His phone goes off in his pocket, and when he fishes it out and unlocks it, there’s a message from the cabbie app, asking him to rate his driver.

“Gotta be five stars,” John says to himself, tapping the corresponding section on his screen.

He skips the bit with the box asking for additional comments- he has a few, but they aren’t what Chas’ employers will consider good- and hits submit.

That done, he closes the app and opens his messages.

Predictably, the most recent is from Zed.

_ He did what?? _

Rather than try to type out an explanation, John hits call and heads inside. 

Zed picks up just as he steps on the first stair.

“What the hell, John?”

“That’s a very broad statement. Care to narrow it down a bit?”

“You said your driver got in a fistfight! And then you didn’t answer for over half an hour!”

“He did win it,” John points out, forcing himself to keep climbing. “He was very good, Zed. I gave him five stars.”

Zed doesn’t reply for a long moment.

“Five metaphorical stars for getting in a fight or five stars for your assessment on the app?” she asks slowly.

“Well, they’re hard to separate in this case, aren’t they? It was part of the ambiance. He showed me the real Brooklyn.”

“Oh, was he wailing on a hipster?”

John snorts. “I saw your last boyfriend, luv. We both know you like a hipster.”

“Shut up.”

John does, but not because she told him to so much as he needs some time to formulate his question before he asks it.

Zed’s a good bird, but she does have a habit of hanging up on him.

Over the line, he catches the sound of Jim’s voice, his slow Southern drawl filtering through. His words are unintelligible, but his tone is easy, unhurried.

A social visit, John thinks with a small smile. Zed really must have been worried to have picked up while she has company. Especially such handsome company. Handsome and available and almost painfully interested company.

Zed says something in return, her own words muffled but her voice light.

John unlocks his apartment and steps inside without turning on the light, knowing it’s as barren as the rest of the building.

He lets himself bump into the arm of the sofa, shuffles awkwardly to the long edge, then flops onto it.

Staring up at his ceiling, the white of it indistinguishable from the green walls and grungy carpet floor in the dark, John asks, “Zed?”

“Yes, John?”

“How would you go about convincing a cabbie to leave his job and become your private chauffeur?”

The slap of plastic on wood doesn’t quite mask Jim’s surprised shout- Zed must have thrown her phone down- or Zed’s long, unhappy groan, and the satisfaction of annoying her is almost worth the punch John is bound to catch the next time Zed sees him.


End file.
